


what a strange thing! to be alive beneath the cherry blossoms

by thestrangehistorian



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Freeform, Historical Hetalia, I Tried, M/M, Relationship Study, i had fun writing it so? idk man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 19:51:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangehistorian/pseuds/thestrangehistorian
Summary: A series of moments in history, leading up to Kiku realizing that he is in love with Alfred.





	what a strange thing! to be alive beneath the cherry blossoms

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *has more than one multichapter fic ongoing and waiting on updates*  
> Me: Uhhhhhhhhhh *rambles on and on about Historical Ameripan instead*

The first time they meet, the world is gray and cold.

The year is 1854, by Western reckoning. Winter has come to Kanagawa and Japan with it. The Western world has refused to abandon the harbor. He fears that his previous dismissals have done little good. The black ships loom in the steely sea, and the canons… Japan fears that he cannot hold back what is coming. It was too good to last.

It has been nearly two centuries since he spoke to another nation face to face.

It has been centuries more since he called anyone a friend.

Humans wither and die like cherry blossoms at the edge of summer. Japan is a person named “Honda Kiku,” who has a fragile heart. He cannot endure everything and so he has shut himself away, locked it all up and thrown out the key. It’s better this way, he tells himself. Better for his people, better for his country.

The foreigners come ashore, and Japan knows that it has all been lost.

America is very young and far too handsome and kind for his own good. He is plainly uninterested in the negotiations – or the threats – and spends most of the sit-down meetings staring off into space or doodling on scraps of paper. Japan notices it right away; the Commodore and his men have given up on this boy, and have decided to handle the matter for themselves. Against his will, Japan feels a bit of pity.

After the meeting, America comes and sits with him in Japan’s private study. He doesn’t enjoy the tea – he promises to introduce Japan to coffee soon – and doesn’t care very much about Japan’s resolute silence. He has questions and ideas. He has a million ideas and a hundred million questions. His eyes – starkly blue, a sign of the unknown – scarcely leave Japan’s face.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“How often do you talk to China?”

“What is the world for ‘beautiful’ in your language?”

“Do you ever think about flying to the stars?”

Japan struggles to answer without giving even more away than he already has.

“Blue is my favorite color.”

“I suppose I enjoy my own cooking the most.”

“Not often, since I am busy with my own affairs.”

“That would depend on the context.”

“I… I don’t believe I ever have before.”

He keeps his answers as vague as possible, half-hoping to discourage further questions. But America is not deterred.

“What a coincidence! Blue is my favorite color as well!”

“That’s fair, I guess. Lately I’ve been eating a lot of German and Italian foods!”

“Hmm. Everyone in Europe seems really obsessed with China, so I guess I was just curious.”

“I’ll keep that in mind!”

“I’m going to be the first nation ever to fly – I’ve already made up my mind about it!”

Against his will, Japan is very curious about the foreigners. In the privacy of his bedroom, when all the others have fallen asleep, Japan admits to himself that he’s starting to like America. There is an earnest innocence to him that is endearing. Charming. Japan cannot remember the last time that anyone asked him about his favorite color or foods. He wants to hear more about flying to the stars. Japan has spent so long looking inward, growing familiar and comfortable in his surroundings. He has never wondered about the stars or the outside world before.

When he was young, the only part of the world that mattered was China. China was the Middle Kingdom, the Celestial Empire. All that mattered was that Japan be more like his elder, that he study hard and become a civilized nation like China.

Japan is a person named Kiku, who doesn’t know who – or what – he really is.

And though it takes him many years, he comes to realize that all of those odd conversations were not “America” trying to understand “Japan,” but “Alfred” trying to understand “Kiku.”

* * *

America stays in Kanagawa for a month and after that, Japan does not see him for a long while.

His visit seems to give the other Western nations a signal that Japan is now open for business. He meets several of them, including the Netherlands, whom he had been writing too for centuries now. The proud and boastful Prussia visits and conducts a military exercise, and his rather bashful younger brother comes to collect him after six months, muttering apologies for any troubles that he caused. France flirts openly with Japan when he visits, something that surprises Japan because he had learned that Western nations took a different attitude on the relationships between men. Even Japan’s own “brothers,” China and Korea, did not understand his opinion on the matter.

But Japan is open to the West, and he no longer cares what his “brothers” think about him.

The year is 1881 and Japan takes his first trip abroad.

London is a maze of a city, a mess of slick stone and heavy smog. Japan dislikes the city but grows to admire the English countryside that surrounds it. Britain – or England, as his brothers call him – is a good host, attentive to Japan’s wants and needs. Japan feels that he could easily become friends with this man. How strange that all of Europe seems to despise him.

Greece is also in London at the same time. He tells Japan that he has come to personally petition the British crown for the return of certain marble statues that belonged to his mother. A British diplomat removed them from their sacred grounds, and will not give them back.

The two of them get to talking. Soon enough, Britain is forgotten in his own palace. Greece offers to take Japan from the lavish party. They can talk more back at his residence in London. They can have dinner together.

Greece’s name is Heracles, like the hero.

It has been so long since Kiku felt desired.

* * *

It is now 1883, and America has resumed writing to Japan. It’s as if he never stopped. He talks of machines – invention and innovation – and “World’s Fairs” – and “skyscrapers.” Japan replies dutifully to each one, and reads over the old ones when he can. He is baffled by how much he simply likes Alfred Jones; how strange it is to be both human and not. It’s hard to tell where “America” ends and “Alfred” begins. “Greece” argues furiously with “Britain” about historical injustice and rightful ownership. “Heracles” sleeps late and never worries, his fingertips tracing patterns across his lover’s back as the sun climbs higher in the sky.

Japan isn’t sure quite who he wants to be. He barely knows who Kiku is; he has always been “Japan” first and foremost. The interests and welfare of his nation are always on his mind. But he finds that Alfred responds well to “Kiku,” and so he makes a little more effort to include his personality in the letters.

It works, and in 1885, Alfred comes back to visit Japan. It’s a routine diplomatic mission – nothing that a nation would normally involve themselves with – but Alfred stays for three months. They tour Tokyo and Kyoto together, visiting shrines and restaurants in the capitals. When the cherry blossoms bloom near the end of the visit, they spend an entire afternoon sitting beneath them in a park, and Alfred declares, “This is the most beautiful place on Earth!”

He smiles when he says this and Japan once again realizes that Alfred is talking to him – to Kiku.

In the end, he does not tell Alfred about Greece.

* * *

China is becoming a problem but America – true to his original comments – does not seem very interested in dealing with it. Japan learns that Alfred writes to China almost as frequently as he writes to Japan, which stokes a curious sense of jealousy in him. The rest of the world was already so obsessed with the Celestial Empire; why had he expected America to be really any different? But Japan is a world power now, and China’s closest, most immediate neighbor, and therefore it is his responsibility to handle these matters. 

First is the matter of Korea. Korea has a lot of potential but displays no interest in opening to the outside world. Japan concludes that it is his devotion to China which holds him back and sets about challenging the old structure of their family.

When the war draws to a close, they go drinking together and Korea tells him, “I know I can’t rely on him forever. But he’s the only family I’ve got left – and I still feel like I need to support him. To repay him for everything he did for me.”

Japan replies, “The world has changed from when we were young. We can’t really afford to rely on others anymore.”

But China refuses to attend negotiations and so Japan is sent to fetch him.

Kiku never would’ve done it.

He had grown up in that house, learned to cook in the kitchen and draw in the garden. His big brother had taught him to read out on the porch and he’d learned to fight out in the front yard. Kiku had been opposed to the idea at first but China had warned him about how dangerous the world was. Japan must learn to stand on his own, in case China could not protect him.

Kiku never would’ve done it.

And perhaps it is for that reason that China refuses to look at or speak to him during the post-rebellion conference a few years later.

It is 1900, a new century. Japan has not seen Alfred in person for a few awhile, but his letters show up at the conference. The one that Britain receives was clearly not written by Alfred, though it bears his signature. China has one as well, but it is short and mostly formalities – Japan spies it when they go on a break for lunch one day. The contents are of no matter, which pleases him.

The letter that he keeps in his breast pocket is from Alfred, and it talks only of flying machines. Kiku takes it out and reads it when no one else is looking.

America has invited him to visit.

* * *

Greece writes infrequently. He’s a busy person, too. He says that he will forgive Japan for moving on. Love is fickle in nature, after all, and they are not humans who can devote themselves to each other for a single, endless lifetime. Japan tells him that he understands and not to worry.

Britain, for his part, has never propositioned Japan directly but Japan knows that he wouldn’t refuse the opportunity.

He is very curious to know what Alfred might do in this situation.

They tour around New York – which is marginally cleaner and twice as intimidating as London – and then around Washington, DC. Alfred is bursting with ideas. Would Kiku care to see Chicago or Milwaukee next? Perhaps Santa Fe or the salt flats in Utah? The Blue Mountains are gorgeous, but what about the Rockies out west? They could go to beach in California, or to see the orchards bloom in Georgia.

Kiku manages to enjoy himself, despite feeling overwhelmed by the sheer amount of everything. He had not realized the enormous size of America, or the variety of peoples within. Nothing was set in stone here. Even crossing from one town to the next could be like crossing the world.

In the end, they decide to visit New Orleans.

France’s influence on the city is obvious. Spanish moss crawls over the cobbled streets, and music fills the air – lively, off-kilter, wonderful music the likes of which Japan has never heard. Alfred switches easily between English, French, and Creole with wait-staff. They visit a fortuneteller who overcharges for her service and eat food so spicy that even Kiku (who prides himself on his strong stomach) has to ask for more water. Alfred takes them to a club where they can drink and dance to their hearts’ content and they do.

As the night fades, Kiku’s head is fuzzy and light, and he can’t remember the last time he’s smiled so much. Japan doesn’t dance but Kiku finds that he enjoys it, even though he has two left feet. They are among the last in the club and even the band is getting ready to pack up. Alfred tells him that it’s not decent to wander the streets drunk at this hour but there are rooms upstairs when they can rest until they’ve sobered up.

They stumble, giggling, into bed.

“Have you done it like this before?” Kiku asks.

Alfred shakes his head, cheeks flushed with rum and fevered desire. His kisses are clumsy, too. It’s easy to forget that he’s still young when his power is growing by the day. “I wanted you right away, you know,” he says.

Kiku smiles. “In that case, allow me to show you what I want.”

It is the last coherent thing that either of them say for some time.

* * *

It’s the turn of the century and Japan can’t really afford to be monogamous. Though he enjoys his time with America, he knows that he has other options. And besides, a nation can’t give their heart to someone like that. It’s just not practical in such turbulent times.

So when the alliance is formalized and Britain finally musters his courage, Japan yields to him willingly. He finds that Britain – while vastly more experienced – isn’t quite as exciting as America. But Japan soon figures out the reason why Britain wasn’t living up to expectations. It turns out that Britain is a much greater fool than anyone ever realized; his heart is across the Channel, in the city of lights. Japan wonders if France has realized the truth yet. He, who so rightfully deserves his reputation as a lover, is so ambivalent towards his old rival; Japan cannot tell if he knows and is pretending not to, or if he knows and is merely toying with Britain, like a cat with a bird.

Japan soon grows bored with them and goes back to visit Greece, who welcomes him with open arms. He wakes up in the morning, dappled with sunlight, wondering why he’d ever allowed this relationship to take a backseat.

Alfred writes weekly now. The words “I miss you, Kiku,” appear one day.

Kiku cannot recall anyone ever missing him before.

* * *

In 1905, Japan meets Russia on the battlefield – and then, at the negotiating table.

America sits between them, mediating.

During the proceedings, Japan becomes aware of the fact that Russia and America have been acquainted nearly since America’s independence movement over a hundred years ago. It’s clear that they are good personal friends. America doesn’t understand why Japan declines his invitations to go out as a trio, or why Russia is treating Japan like an enemy even though the war is over.

But Russia and Japan came to an understanding the moment that they laid eyes on each other.

Alfred does not realize that he is the problem.

Japan thinks that he has an advantage. He spends most of his nights with Alfred, giving himself away over and over and over again. It’s good – Alfred has greatly improved and is always eager to please – but frustrating when it doesn’t produce results. America continues to defer to Russia. Japan does not understand why – out of love? Out of pity? Because Russia was there first?

When the conference comes to an end, Japan confronts America on his behavior.

“Did I not satisfy you?” he asks quietly.

America goes scarlet. They are waiting for a car to arrive, under a pool of streetlight in the freezing November.

“No,” says Alfred, “I mean – yes – I mean, you’re perfect.”

Perfect?

They stared at each other. Alfred is red to his ears.

“I mean,” he says again, “I just think that you’ve been acting kind of weird lately. I know that you’re going through a lot but I sort of thought – well, after New Orleans – and up to now, I… even though I was drunk the first time and I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing when I’m around you…” He bites his lip and bursts out, “The truth is that I didn’t want to sleep with you for favors or anything and I just really think you’re attractive, that’s all. I just wanted to be with you. I still want to, if you’ll have me.”

The truth hung between them, naked and inescapable. Japan pitied how young he was. How foolish and hopeful. He hadn’t accounted for the idea that Alfred might start to fall for him. He had to understand that this was just a convenient arrangement.

(Kiku wants to accept the confession, to kiss him and tell him that his feelings weren’t in vain.)

After all that had happened to Japan, Alfred was being ridiculously naïve.

“Please give me some time to consider it,” he says, and leaves it at that.

He does not see Alfred in person again for seven years.

* * *

It is 1912, and letters still come weekly. America is a nation who looks forward, and Alfred is a person who does not hold onto grudges for very long. They’ve been post-stamped from California, from Ohio, from Kansas – while Kiku’s replies are only ever from Kyoto, from the spacious house with the garden and outdoor bath. He’s always lived there and thinks that he always will. In spring, the nearby cherry trees leave their petals across the stone paths like a blush-colored blanket. This is what gives Kiku his inspiration. 

The ceremony goes well. The Vis-countess and the First Lady, planting the first saplings in the riverbed before a cluster of reporters. Cameras flash, filling the air with smoke. The Tafts are good hosts and secretly, Alfred presents Kiku with a rose bouquet – it was the First Lady’s idea, he explains, going red at the ears again. Overall, Japan is quite pleased with the results.

He is even more pleased to learn that Alfred’s desire for him has not lessened. When they are alone, Alfred smothers him with kisses, sighs about how much he’s missed Kiku all this time. And this time, Kiku has nothing to gain from spending time in Alfred’s bed; this time, he enjoys himself. He pulls Alfred down over him again and again, eager for his touch. The fact that they have separate rooms is merely a formality.

One night, a pipe breaks on the floor above theirs and Alfred nearly falls out of bed in fear. The clanging, he declares, could be evidence of an evil spirit. Kiku finds this very funny; how is it possible that America, the bastion of this modern industrial age, could be so superstitious? But Alfred explains that it’s no joke – as much as he puts his faith in science and progress, he equally believes in things that can’t be explained. He believes in devils and curses, and songs and giants, and veils between one world and the next.

Kiku tells him that his people have no concept of a Hell full of devils as the Christians know it. He believes that life is an endless circle and death is just the start of a new life.

Alfred considers this thoughtfully.

“Do you think you ever had a past life?” he asks. “Before you were you, I mean? Were you ever someone else?”

 _I am always someone else,_ thinks Kiku. _I am Japan._

He merely says, “Perhaps, but I wouldn’t know for sure, would I?”

“Mm. Guess not.”

After a moment, Alfred smiles at him. “That’s fine by me, anyway. I think this life is enough. I don’t know if we could’ve met in some other lifetime, and I would hate to miss out on knowing you.”

He accepts the kiss that Kiku offers him and his smile widens when Kiku’s hands slide down to his hips.

He says, “And I would definitely hate to miss out on this.”

* * *

Their relationship is different after that. More intimate. Alfred's letters are long and he expresses annoyance over the fact that they can't see each other as often as they would like. He is no poet but his earnestness is charming. Kiku studies English and signs his own name at the bottom of the letters, barely pausing to marvel at the way his feelings were changing. It was hard to forget about Alfred, even when he knew that it was necessary. For the good of his country.

It is 1918 and a conference has been called in Paris, to discuss the end of the war. Russia refuses all formal diplomatic invitations, but sends a lot of passive-aggressive telegrams. Though his relationship with America is not public knowledge, Russia has figured out everything and it is clear that he's not happy about it. Korea does not bother with telegrams or letters. He joins marches and protests. He refuses to speak with Japan when Japan is in his country on tour. He changes addresses frequently, specifically so that Japan cannot pin him down. China has not spoken to him directly since the Boxer incident; his letters are clipped, a handful of imperial characters at their longest. They are murder to translate.

Japan finds himself annoyed. His neighbors are clearly jealous of his success, of his connections and his power. They are backwards, old-fashioned.

Someday, they'll understand. 

Things change after the war. The Great War, the War to End All Wars. Japan does not understand why they've called it that. 

He knows that nothing could possibly end  _all_ wars. 

* * *

 In 1924, Britain ends their alliance. 

"It's nothing personal," he assures Japan. "In fact, I would very much hope that we could remain friends."

He has not written to Greece for some time. He offers to visit - to catch up. Like old times. Greece explains apologetically that the timing is not great, perhaps they could catch up later. Most of Europe is too busy recovering from near-death to care much about him. He has faded from their interest. Japan is a world power now, and he is old news.

And despite everything, he is not like them; they make it abundantly clear.

In 1924, Japan attends a conference in Washington. There is no Russia to absorb America's attention, and yet Japan is still pushed to the background. Even though Italy and France declined the invitations. Britain ends the alliance and America does not appear to listen to Japan's proposals. After a few weeks, they stop sleeping together, and they start to argue. Kiku has never argued with a lover before; most of his relationships have not lasted long enough for their to be serious fights. 

"Why don't you understand where I'm coming from?" America demands, exasperated.

"Because you have put me beneath you," Japan reminds him, furious. "When it comes to your priorities, I will always be second best."

"That's not true!"

"Prove it."

The conference ends miserably. 

* * *

He sees America again two years later, when America is escorting Lithuania to a meeting of the League of Nations. He has recently been informed that the two of them have been living together. The way that they laugh and joke together causes an ugly heat to simmer in Japan's stomach. He stares at America as he hugs Lithuania goodbye outside the conference doors and considers approaching - to remind him. 

The jealousy is irrational, Japan reminds himself. America is entitled to do whatever he likes as a nation.  _As am I._

That night, he goes with Greece to his hotel.

"Do you love me?" asks Greece, in the pale hours before dawn broke. Japan was exhausted and slick with sweat, aching but not satisfied. He wanted more, hungered for something intangible. He has never been dissatisfied with Greece before. America's smile towards Lithuania lingers at the back of his mind, much as Japan wants to loose himself here, in this moment. To forget. 

Japan does not answer right away.

"You don't have to feel pressured," he murmurs, in his warm and sleepy voice. "I was curious."

"Why do you ask?" 

Greece sighs and rolls over. "We don't see each other much. You're in a bad mood. I wonder... if something may have happened."

Japan turns his back to Greece, curling up on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry if something I did bothered you. It wasn't my intention."

Silence. Japan waits for what feels like an eternity, praying that Greece will simply go to sleep. But he doesn't.

"You don't have to say it," Greece tells him, softly as light begins to peek out from beneath the curtains. "I think I've always known."

Japan tells himself over and over again that he has done nothing wrong. He is a nation. Love is for humans. 

* * *

It is 1935. The "incidents" keep piling up. 

Japan is a nation at war, and the war is ugly.

* * *

 It is 1938, and Japan speaks in person to a Westerner for the first time in years. Germany and Italy are kind, which is the most surprising thing.

Italy is a bit like America in that he is plainly not interested in politics and cares very little about the war. He does, however, care a lot about art and music and cooking, and his obvious love of life was contagious. Japan found himself genuinely getting along with the man, wanting to learn more about this curious Mediterranean country. Even Italy's sour and foul-mouthed older brother seemed to like Japan - or at least, Romano was unable to find fault with him.

Prussia is delighted to see Japan again, though he expressed disappointment that Japan had fallen in with "my brother and his psycho-in-chief." 

Germany and Japan quickly develop a system of communication that mostly contains sighs and shared glances. Japan couldn't be sure, but he is pretty sure that this is the start of a genuine friendship.

The best part is that nobody expects Japan in their bed at the end of the day. Italy and Germany are already wrapped up in each other and Prussia is forlornly in love with a lady-knight who had married his oldest rival a long time ago. Romano is uninterested in romance but appreciates that Japan would listen to him complain, allowing him to vent his frustrations openly.

Even though he is in the heart of Berlin, the war seems only like a distant nightmare.

Japan wishes that this sojourn in Europe could last a lifetime. 

* * *

 It is 1941, and the war has been on for years. Japan's military uniforms are more comfortable than his civilian clothes. Britain declares that he has no intention to surrender, even as Germany bombs him into the ground. Italy is in North Africa, and his absence is felt strongest in Berlin. The United States has imposed an embargo and so Japan goes to negotiate, expects to meet America but finds Alfred at the table instead. Still unable to separate his personal feelings from his duties. Alfred begs him - begs  _Kiku -_ to call off the war. 

"You're a good person," he says. "You're not like this. Please, talk to me."

Down the hall, the leadership is deep in their talks. But every time Japan tries to steer the conversation in the proper direction, Alfred cuts him off. 

"I don't want to hear about the fucking embargo!" he cries. "This is  _wrong!_ Do you have any idea what this all looks like? You're running a scorched earth campaign against China, who has done  _nothing_ to you -"

China is the Middle Kingdom, the center of the world. How many times had Japan heard this? How many times had he bowed low for outsiders, looked away out of politeness? How many times had he been told that he must be better, be more like  _them?_ Be more like China. Be more like Britain. Be more like Germany. America could not understand this, for he was a nation who came from nothing. But Japan had pride. He could not believe that he had allowed this foolish young man with pretty eyes to seduce him as he had - unwittingly, as if the friendliness and a healthy dose of lust could change the fact that they were fundamentally opposed in all things. Kiku had been a fool. Japan was not here to talk to his lover, but to his rival as a nation. It was simple.

It should have been so simple.

And Alfred couldn't even manage this much.

The negotiation ends with Alfred near tears, and Japan can't even feel disappointed at the lack of progress. He feels, after, that it was hopeless to try and reason with America. He is too young to properly understand. He didn't appear to realize that their brief spell of happiness was just that. A spell. A distraction. It was never meant to last.

* * *

It is 1942, the world is at war and it is a horror show.

Japan has known war. But not like this.

_Oh, not like this._

Half the world bends to his will. He is powerful. He is a mighty empire, the land of the rising sun. None of his neighbors can challenge him.

Korea struggles but breaks under his blade. Taiwan is tucked away for safekeeping. Vietnam is forced into the jungles, hiding from him. China is on the run. The defiant Philippines, imprisoned. The ancient, steadfast India is on the defensive. Even Thailand, who has never known Western conquest, defers to him. 

Japan hears terrible news from Europe but he stops writing to Italy and Germany after awhile. There is no point.

 _I am mighty,_ he reminds himself, leading the columns of men through the jungles. He presides over executions and the interrogation of prisoners.  _I have my orders. I must put the country before myself._

Kiku Honda refuses to die.

When it all gets to be too much, Kiku retreats to his tent and puts his face between his hands, staying still for hours at a time. His dreams are dark and disturbed. Strange images from his childhood mixed with half-remembered wars. He cleans his blade daily but the stains don't come out. At sea, he catches the sight of the water where it meets the horizon and his heart begins to ache because it is so beautiful, but it is not the same blue. There is no shade of blue on Earth that will ever live up to his expectations now. On the nights he cannot sleep, when it is so hot that he feels like melting, he closes his eyes and remembers the winter where he met Alfred for the first time.

_Do you ever think about the stars?_

Kiku longs to wake up in Alfred's bed, to fall into his arms and pretend it was a nightmare. 

He wakes at dawn, and prepares to do it all again.

* * *

The year is 1945. 

Japan is losing the war. 

He cannot surrender. The leadership will not permit it. His pride will not permit it.

Tokyo is a pile of ashes.

China's warring factions have come together in the face of the common enemy.

Russia's massive Red Army looms on the horizon. 

And the worst is yet to come.

* * *

It is August - a blazing day in the summer. A bright blue sky.

Japan stays awake for the first one. 

It is agony, agony, agony,  _agony, agony -_

But he stays awake.

He lays on the floor for hours, and all he knows is the pain.

_This is not a normal weapon._

There is only one person in the world who could cause him this much pain.

Eventually, Japan makes his way to his bedroom. He lays flat on his stomach, arms stretched out. 

Everything hurts. 

Tears come, for the first time in centuries.

The memory of Alfred's smile no longer brings him comfort.

* * *

Two days later, Japan thinks he will survive. The pain has not faded but he can stand and has managed to eat and drink a little. 

Light bursts behind his eyelids and he knows nothing else.

* * *

It takes three more days for his neighbors to find him. They have heard the news; by now, everyone has. The middle-aged woman and her young daughter know him as a distinguished young officer of the military, and not as a nation. They fretfully try to call for help, but the emergency services are tied up. Finally, they drag him to a hospital. Kyoto, with the rest of the nation, is stunned into silence. 

Japan is shell-shocked. Kiku sobs from the pain. 

He cannot tell if it he is asleep or awake.

He wants Alfred. He wants to kill Alfred. He wants to be dead. 

In the hospital, one of the nurses recognizes him. She had worked on his case before and she had been the one who wanted him sent home from the warfront.  _He's putting himself in serious danger,_ she had written.  _And if his behavior - brave and honorable though it may be - continues, I fear that no modern medicine will be able to fix the damage to his body._

Kiku was only human. Japan was supposed to be more.

He had mistaken Alfred for human. He'd believed that this person and his feelings were the only real part of him. Kiku had neglected to consider that America was also very real. That this was a nation who leaped before he looked, who would do whatever it took to survive - to  _win._ He had to have known what he was doing, didn't he? His eyes had been so innocent, long ago. He hadn't wanted to talk about treaties. He'd only wanted to talk about stars.

* * *

When Kiku emerges from surgery - from comatose - he knows that something has fundamentally changed within him. Like a piece of him had died.

Britain visits, and then Greece. He turns both away.

China visits, but does not enter the room. Kiku pretends not to see him lingering outside the door.

Korea and Taiwan do not visit, though Taiwan writes a very sweet letter encouraging him to get well soon. Even though he knows he doesn't deserve her good will, Japan keeps it propped up on his bedside and reads it often.

Italy visits and Japan welcomes him with open arms. On his second visit, Italy brings Germany along. Like Japan, Germany had given his all to the war and paid the price for it. He speaks with great composure about his new physical therapy regimen, and informs Kiku that the doctors believed a full recovery to be possible if he stayed diligent. Italy is simply happy that the war was over, and they could all go back to being "normal" nations again. As if there was any such thing.

America does not visit. Kiku does not expect him to, but is secretly disappointed. He wants to know how this nation will explain himself. What will he say to his former lover, whom he had tried to destroy? 

Kiku knew what he would say:  _If I had known that it would turn out this way, I never would have let you set foot in my country to begin with._

* * *

In 1946, Japan returns to his country. During the long recovery, America stays at his side. 

At first, it's because Kiku struggles to walk or do things on his own. America takes up residence in an apartment near Kiku's home and visits every day, sometimes more than once. He defers to Kiku now, which Kiku recognizes is his way of apologizing without saying the words,  _I'm sorry._ Kiku instructs him to go to the store and buy more rice, and he goes. Kiku instructs him to deliver a letter and he complies. He doesn't complain or protest at a single order. In fact, he rarely speaks to Kiku at all. 

Kiku is curious, but not curious enough to abuse this new power. Outside of the house, he is a country under foreign occupation. Japan is not making the rules.

He wonders if Korea will ever forgive him. 

* * *

 In 1948, America declares his intent to return to his country.

There are some important matters he has to settle.

They are sitting together on the  _engawa_ when he says this, a bit stiffly, as if he's worried about upsetting Kiku. Even now, after all this time. Kiku finds it almost funny.

Still, he is surprised to find that he feels a bit... odd... about America leaving him. He has grown used to the presence of his ex-lover. 

When Alfred stands to go to bed, Kiku rises with him - and kisses him softly on the cheek.

For a moment, they remain like that, nose-to-nose.

"Kiku?" 

"Don't. Please, don't," he says, soft as the breeze.

Kiku's body has healed. Whether his heart ever will is another matter.

He tilts his head, brushing his lips against Alfred's.

There is nothing else to say.

Alfred picks him up and carries him to bed. Kiku is quieter than he has ever been, and Alfred doesn't speak much either. They fall together as if they had never been apart. Kiku can feel his body straining under the fervent pace, each thrust rocking him to his core, but he does not pull back or relent. He wants more of it; he can barely remember the last time they were so close to one another. A wall breaks down in Kiku's heart, flooding him with emotion. And what he feels is regret. If only he had been honest from the beginning - he could have had this, instead of the pain. He could have let Alfred into his heart. 

Alfred groaned into the crook of his neck when he finished, barely remembering to roll aside so that he didn't crush Kiku's body beneath his own.

They fell asleep together, as far apart as they could manage in the futon.

When Kiku woke in the morning, he was alone.

* * *

 It is 1955, and Italy visits Japan for the first time.

He is absolutely ecstatic about the opportunity, and brings along a portable camera. He takes pictures of the young women in kimonos when they come to the shrines, smiling and charming them through the language barrier. He eats everything that Japan gives him with gusto, but declares after awhile that he misses Italian food too much to really enjoy anything. It is spring, and the cherry blossoms are in bloom.

"Has anyone ever told you that this is the most beautiful place on Earth?" Italy asks.

"Yes," Japan says, without thinking. "A long time ago."

* * *

It is the Cold War, and Britain has become a nuclear power. So has France. And China aims to follow.

Japan says nothing but everyone looks at him with pity in their eyes when the news goes public.

He is so tired of war.

* * *

In '60s, a new kind of competition begins. America and Russia were within seconds of destroying each other and tearing the world down with them, but now they have turned their eyes skyward. Japan arranges for methods to follow American news and television, to keep up with the conflict outside of the briefing rooms. Russian satellites stir the popular imagination. They chase each other across the sky, America and Russia. America has not written to Japan in some time and they don't even speak at the UN when everyone breaks for coffee. Japan wonders if America has finally forgotten about him - if he's moved on.

In 1969, America finally achieves the goal of putting a man on the moon.

In 1970, Japan receives an envelope containing a set of NASA photographs and a note.

It says, "Told you I'd do it."

Postmarked from Virginia.

* * *

It is 1973. 

Even America's own lawmakers are against continuing the war in Vietnam. Recently, he took a trip to visit China - the first time since the Second World War that either of them spoke face to face. Two things occur to Japan when he sees the news: One, that he had never realized America's history with China until now; there was so much of it, nearly as much shared history as Japan had for himself.

Two, that if America and China could try to make amends after all that happened between them, then there was hope.

Japan writes monthly letters to America - mostly formal, full of dull things like new recipes and the state of his garden. The Prime Minister learns of it and expresses a mild concern, but ultimately decides that a renewed personal relationship with America might benefit the country as a whole. After awhile, the Prime Minister even encourages him to invite America for a visit.

To his surprise, America accepts the offer.

* * *

Japan has not been with Greece for some time. Not the way they used to be. So he is surprised when - in the week before America's Tokyo trip - Greece confronts him at the UN.

"Are you really sure you want to do this?" he asks. His expression and his voice are as mild as ever. Japan knows that Greece could never be really angry with him. Even after he learned everything there was to know about the war, Greece still doesn't think of Japan as the type of person who deserves bad things. Meanwhile, Korea still doesn't want to speak to him and Japan is starting to wonder if he ever will. 

To his own surprise, he doesn't hesitate when he replies, "Yes."

Greece reaches out and Japan thinks he's going to put a hand to his cheek - but he merely grips Japan by the shoulder for a moment, and then walks away.

Japan feels curiously empty.

* * *

It's a lot less awkward than Japan thought it might be. He struggled to come up with activities that would encourage America's better traits, things that would allow him to act like himself instead of like his country. The first thing that he comes up with is a movie.

America wants to watch  _Gozilla vs. Megalon._ Japan has already seen it three times and doesn't want to admit it; he says that he wants to watch  _The Yakuza Papers._

They compromise and spend an entire day at the movies.

Afterwards, they go out for a late dinner and spend the entire time arguing.

"Nah, but did you see the Megalon? If Godzilla didn't have that kind of help, then -"

"It was established in the first film that -"

"In the FIRST film? Dude, that was like a million years ago, they've completely changed the character arc from the original!"

" _Listen_ to me. You have a fundamental misunderstanding of the mythology!"

America and Japan both have hotel rooms in the city - separate, across town.

They don't go back. Instead, they find a park and stay out under the stars, talking until the sun begins to rise.

America demands that they find a place for coffee. Japan locates a cafe and pretends not to care about the odd looks that the waitstaff are giving them - two young men who have clearly been out all night and are practically falling asleep into their plates. They don't speak much over breakfast, but Japan hasn't felt so wholly content and new in a very long time.

At the end of the trip, America declares that he hasn't had that much fun since he lost Canada in a crowd at Woodstock.

Japan asks, "Will you come back soon?"

"As soon as I can!"

* * *

It's 1989, and the Berlin Wall is coming down.

America happens to be on a diplomatic mission when he hears about it. He drops what he's doing, hops the train to Kyoto, and delivers the news to Japan himself. Japan, who has been watching the coverage obsessively, decides that he must go to Berlin at once to congratulate Germany - to celebrate with him. He and America pack their things and spring through the airport to a last minute red-eye flight, and fall asleep on each other's shoulders after take off.

Half the world has had the same idea. Germany has already been drinking and he spends most of the day with his arm around Italy's shoulders, leaning on him for support. The sight of the former divide is glorious. West-Berliners flock to the scene, armed with bottles of champagne and bouquets of flowers to greet their eastern friends and relatives when they come rushing past the checkpoint. The guards in the towers lean on their rifles, watching it. Eventually, they come down for a smoke. People break down bits of the wall and dance on the rubble. Someone brings a boombox and pop music plays. 

The nations wander into a beer hall for the afternoon. Poland pours a round of vodka shots; France sips from a wineglass, occasionally leaning over to murmur something in Britain's ear. Britain's laughter - a rare and wonderful thing - fills the hall. America challenges Finland to a drinking contest and loses. Japan sits with Germany and Italy, quietly, just the three of them, enjoying the fact that they are alive to see this day.

He often catches America looking in his direction. At the times he makes eye-contact, Japan tries to smile reassuringly. 

Eventually, the party ends - but for one night, the world seems like a bright and beautiful place.

* * *

The world spins on and on and on.

America and Japan grow to become friends - the best of friends. There are long nights playing video games and throwing popcorn in the loser's face. There are hour-long debates about the relative power-levels of Clark Kent and Son Goku. There are letters, emails, and phone calls that rack up massive long distance charges, and eventually text conversations that consist of nothing but emojis and memes, back and forth.

Even though their countries don't always get along, Alfred and Kiku certainly do.

 _This is how it should've been from the start,_ Kiku thinks to himself one day, when Alfred waves goodbye after a lunch meet-up.  _If he and I had tried to start like this, then maybe we could have..._

He stops himself. 

Kiku does not like to think of his pre-war affairs with other nations. It was a different world, then. Sex and war are everywhere nowadays - sleek and ugly and fast-paced as ever. But Kiku largely prefers this. He likes to get coffee with Italy and dog-sit for Germany; he likes to stroll through the park with Britain when they are on break and talk with France about his new favorite designers; he likes to travel; he likes to talk about smart technologies, to build robots and games, to create new recipes and tend to his garden. Even Korea has warmed up to him now; the Hallyu wave is a fascinating phenomenon, though Japan can't help but feel jealous with his neighbor's new popularity. 

Korea and America became fast friends in their own right. Japan feels that he shouldn't be surprised; they have far too much in common as people and as nations. Korea is as touchy-feely as ever, something which America is surprisingly okay with. They have nicknames and banter. They dance and sing off-key. 

Japan does not like it.

He doesn't say anything, because in the end it's not really his business. America is allowed to spend time with whomever he chooses.

And then there's this:

It's 2015 and the summer is high. America kisses every person he sees when he walks into the meeting a few days after the big event - even ducking down to peck England on the cheek when he refuses to rise from his chair. 

Japan half dreads, half anticipates the memory of his lips when he comes around to the other side of the table, but - to Japan's mingled displeasure and relief - all he gets is a long, tight hug. When he completes his round, America takes a showman's bow; everyone is amused and pleased with the news and Ireland is offering to buy him a drink after work. No one appears to have noticed anything odd.

After the meeting, America catches Japan alone in the hall, grabs his face in both hands and crushes their lips together.

The kiss is longer, warmer and softer than anything he handed out in the meeting. Japan begins to reciprocate without fully meaning too, feeling his heart unwind. 

When America pulls back, he grins crookedly.

"I know you hate PDA," he says, "but no way was I letting you walk out without a kiss."

* * *

It's 2016 and America tells everyone that this election is going to give him a migraine that lasts a century. The air is gray and the sidewalk coated in an icy slush as January rolls into an uneasy February. Japan has not stopped thinking about the summer kiss - about the way America has treated him since then. There have been lingering touches, gentler smiles, and more courtesy. He asks as many questions as he ever does, but now he seems to remember the things more acutely. For Japan's birthday, he sends a bouquet of roses - "Looking back on it," he says in explanation, "flowers were kind of our thing, right?" 

On the fourteenth, Japan molds a set of flower-shaped chocolates and sends them off, packed carefully and wrapped in ribbon. He starts to write a note but chickens out at the last minute. 

America thanks him profusely and eats the entire box in one sitting.

Japan is disappointed, but it's no longer a cold sort of feeling. Alfred is his closest friend. After everything that's happened between them, he can't bring himself to get really upset over something so trivial. He chides himself for his behavior. Imagine someone as old and dull as him acting like a foolish schoolgirl in this kind of situation. 

Then, a month later, America sends him a set of white chocolates in a velvet-lined box.

* * *

 It's April of 2016 and America has another migraine. Japan comes to the world meeting armed with candies and other little remedies to make him feel better. They sit beside each other, America defiantly rearranging placards so that they can stay close together. During one of the lunch breaks, Japan allows him to take a nap on his shoulders, petting his hair to soothe him.

All the while his heart is pounding. Japan is not fully sure what is happening - it feels old, and feels new. He wants it to stop - things were so  _simple_ and easy before - and he never wants it to end. It has been so long since he felt whole, felt loved and safe. It has been so long since he had someone at his side who allowed him to exist as Kiku, to let go of the burdens he carried as Japan. 

Other nations have started to take notice too. Korea won't stop giggling when he sees Japan; France smiles knowingly; Italy approaches him and asks if they'd like to go on a double-date with him and Germany at the end of the conference.

"We're not -" Japan begins.

"Not yet," says Italy confidently. "So, maybe not this week, but at the next conference, okay?"

But at the end of the week, they all go out drinking and they drink too much. France waltzes with Britain, and Korea swings a laughing Belgium in a circle, oblivious to Spain glowering at him from the background. Italy and Germany lean against each other, apparently lost in their own world. In the bar's flickering multicolored lights, Japan asks America, "Do you remember what happened the first time we went to a club together?"

America grins at him, loopy and flushed and utterly failing to be suave. 

"You wanna remind me?" 

They leave at once, hand in hand.

* * *

It is a night of rediscovery. 

Kiku savors every kiss, running his fingers down Alfred's torso.

"You really have gotten stronger," he murmurs, pressing against his abdomen. "These weren't so defined last time."

Alfred pushes himself up on his elbows and pouts at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Kiku slides his hands around to the small of Alfred's back and presses him down once more.

"Focus, please."

Alfred groans, which makes Kiku smile. 

"Did you even -"

"Of course," Kiku replies, a bit quickly. "That's not such a bad thing. It never hurts to be prepared."

Alfred kisses him, distracting him from the discomforting stretch. Kiku squirms with anticipation, arching up and shifting his hips. The alcohol has made him feel awake and alive, like everything is moving too slow. The pit of his stomach hollows itself out, a vast ache within him growing wider and wider with each passing minute. Alfred is diligent in his work but Kiku thinks that he wouldn't mind the pain at this point. He's missed Alfred so much that it hurts. 

When Alfred presses into him, Kiku lets out a soft keening noise, tilting his head back so that Alfred can kiss his neck.

It's like the first time all over again - the same uncertainty and excitement, the desperation and warmth. And Kiku realizes why nothing ever felt quite like this, why sex with Greece had fizzled out like it had, why Britain had bored him during their few scattered encounters - because it wasn't the physicality he craved, but the intimacy. The feeling of being so very close to someone, using every part of the body to bring someone else pleasure rather than mindlessly seeking one's own. Alfred set the pace and Kiku matched him, the two of them rising and falling in tandem. It wasn't effortless and it never had been - there had been so much, so much to get them to this night at this time - all the pain and the trial-and-error and the longing and the endless second-guessing...

"I love you," Alfred says, like a prayer, like an apology, his head falling forward so that his bangs hid his eyes. "God, I love you. I love you so much, Kiku, I love you."

Kiku takes his face in his hands and pushes his hair back, allowing him to see the shining honesty in those blue eyes.

"I love you," he replies, in the way one might tell someone that  _it's okay._

Alfred kisses him and something breaks and shifts between them. Kiku can no longer stand the exquisite pressure between his hips; pleasure floods every one of his senses and the next thing he knows is that Alfred is on the other side of the bed fast asleep. 

The high is fading. Kiku has sobered up considerably since leaving the club. His body is exhausted by his mind is racing. 

 _This was a mistake,_ he thinks.  _You shouldn't have given in like that. You've complicated everything._

 _This was your fault,_ he thinks.  _You always knew that he liked you too much. You shouldn't have said that._

 _This was right,_ is what he finally decides.  _The world is full of hardship and I'm tired. I want to sleep next to someone I love and spend my days with them, like a normal person. I don't want to pretend that I'm something I'm not._

He has always been Japan - but he's Kiku, too. 

Kiku fits himself into the empty spaces of Alfred's arms and goes to sleep. 

* * *

The morning after is a long conversation over room service and several cups of coffee. It's Sunday, and it's raining, so there's no where to go.

On Monday, they attend the concluding remarks and hold hands beneath the table.

Before the world departs on lunchbreak, Italy comes up to Kiku and says, "I told you so."

Kiku smiles at him and says, "You certainly did."

* * *

The point of the cherry blossom is that it will always continue to bloom. The flowers are fleeting but the tree will always be there, a testament to time. Sometimes, a terrible sickness or an accident may befall the tree, but plants grow back from even the smallest seeds. Spring always comes again, no matter what. 

After a year, Kiku and Alfred celebrate their first anniversary. Alfred fudges the date because he really wants to do  _hanami,_ but the blossoms are so early. He assures Kiku that they've technically been together since last February because the chocolate box was a pretty big indicator that they were ready to take their relationship to the next level. Kiku disagrees; he thinks that White Day, when Alfred sent a return gift, is a more appropriate anniversary date. 

More than one nation is surprised that they've lasted this long. That they haven't gotten sick of each other or reopened the old wounds. A few rude ones - particularly ones who despise America for whatever reason - have expressed the certainty that it won't last long. Love, after all, is not for nations. They simply can't afford to get attached to one another. It's not like they're humans who can devote their lives to each other, even if an affair was really  _that_ serious, which this one surely is not.

America finds this annoying and sometimes tries to argue back. Japan merely smiles and says, "Let them talk."

Most of them are younger than he is anyway. Maybe someday, they'll understand what took him so long to learn. 

In the end, Alfred and Kiku decide that it doesn't really matter, so long as they are together.

**Author's Note:**

> For some reference: the Elgin Marbles - a series of statues from the Parthenon and the Acropolis in Athens. It's widely agreed that they were stolen by a British diplomat in the early 1800s, before Greece had achieved independence from Turkey, but the entire situation is quite murky. Greece has been trying to ensure the return of these statues for nearly a hundred and fifty years now; the UN has offered to mediate discussions. 
> 
> The long gap between Kiku and Alfred's initial meeting and their second meeting involves an elaborate headcanon I have about the effects of Reconstruction on Alfred's health. I mean, his health probably wasn't great like, in general, until the 20th century but that's another fic.
> 
> "Incidents" was the common vernacular to describe military action in China by the Japanese, before the war was declared officially. By the time of the atomic bombings, Japan had technically been at war for almost fifteen years (if you count the war as beginning with the invasion of Manchuria; the official start date is in 1937).
> 
> The title is a poem from Kobayashi Issa, one of Japan's most famous haiku-ists (if that's a word). It's one of my favorites and I think it really suits Kiku!
> 
> ANYWAYS, I don't really have a good explanation for why I wrote this? I'm not really good at Historical Hetalia with the canon characters - like, as nations rather than as humans. My thoughts on this are a little vague and inconsistent. One of the big things is that I headcannon that Japan is good at compartmentalizing. At least pre-WW2, he sees "Japan" and "Kiku" as separate identities, rather than parts of his whole self. I tried to get that across in this fic but I don't know how well I managed it.
> 
> Let me know what you think - did you like it? Did I majorly screw up or miss something that you thought was important? Comments and reviews are life. In any case, I hope you enjoyed and will catch you next time!


End file.
